


Bad Girl

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Priest Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following The Little Wonders, Steed discovers an interesting fantasy of Cathy's...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Girl

“Keep it on.”

Steed’s eyebrow cocked. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Isn’t it a bit…” He searched for a word that wasn’t “odd” or a derivation thereof. That was not quite what he meant.

“Please?”

Cathy pouted in that over-exaggerated, school-girlish manner that made him want to slap her…which was usually the purpose behind it. It was particularly irksome coming from the very obviously adult woman reclining on his bed in full leather gear, having not even taken the trouble to remove her boots. She had no regard for his duvet.

He must have made his feelings visually known, because she smiled and laughed, needling him more.

“So that’s one of your little kinks, is it?” he said, fingering the collar. “Fantasies about the local vicar? Or is it the priest angle: bad little girl confessing her sins?”

“Now, Steed, play nicely. We could discuss some of your little kinks as well.”

He saw the shimmer in her eyes, though, the way she shifted on the bed, trying to appear nonchalant. The game, whatever it was, was working and he had a full bevy of thoughts to express.

“Sitting there, whispering your confession, the thoughts that keep you awake at night, thoughts that no good girl ever has, that have you rubbing your legs together with the need to have his hand between them.”

She laughed again, eyes darting to his crotch. “Are you sure we’re not discussing your fantasies now?”

But she did cross her legs, the shush of the leather setting off its own chain reaction in his body and firming the erection that already began with the image of Cathy sitting in a confessional, growing wet from the very soft voice of a young priest.

Cathy raised her leg. “Take off my boots.”

He smiled. This was a ritual too, in its own way, and he happily unzipped the long left boot, the sole pressing into his abdomen as he did. When her foot was bared he waited, holding it in one hand, until she dropped it lower, toes moving over his groin. But it was the look in her eyes that did it, that made him want to forego the rest of the game, grab her, and mount her. Instead he removed her other boot. As he laid it reverently at the foot of his bed, he was aware of her eyes on him.

He knelt on the bed and crawled up so he hovered over her, face close to hers. He lowered his lips to her ear and felt her shiver at the touch of his breath.

“Tell me your sins,” he rumbled.

There was a pause as she thought.

“Sometimes, at night, I touch myself and think of a man.”

“What man?”

“My friend. My lover.”

He felt a buzz of pride. “Very handsome, this man?”

“Oh, very. A bit…over-confident. Smug.”

“Oh?” He shifted so that he could look at her. “Well, I’m sure he has good reason to be.”

“Sometimes I want to slap that smug smile off his face, though.”

“Why don’t you?”

“He might not like it.”

“Or he might.”

She laughed. “Well, he is very…kinky.”

He tried to ignore the tease in her voice. “What else? What do you do when you think of this man?”

“I lie awake, sometimes. Think of his…cock. I get wet. I want him to be there, to touch me, to have him inside me, and he’s not. So I do it myself.”

“How?”

She described it, in detail. The image of her with her fingers curving inside herself, her other hand on a breast, rubbing at nipple, and all the while thinking of him. Well, it was enough to inflame any man beyond endurance. But he had to play his part.

“Mmm,” he managed when she’d done, and hoped his voice didn’t sound too strangled. “Well, that’s a very grievous sin. You must be punished for it.”

He looked at her, trying to read in her eyes if she wanted to go that far. Sometimes she didn’t. But the flush on her face told him as much as her words did.

“Yes. I suppose I must,” she said. 

Steed shifted off her. “Take off your trousers.”

He watched as she rose, a little shakily, and unbuttoned the tight leather trousers. Beneath she wore simple white cotton panties, entirely unintended to arouse…which of course meant that they did just that. Steed sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Here,” he said, patting his kness.

He knew what she needed, how good it would be for both of them. It was a game, a play, but beneath something real and warm and loving. He wouldn’t get the crop this time. He wanted the contact, flesh on flesh, and she seemed to as well, for there was no hesitation on her part. She knew what to do. She lay across his knees, adjusting herself properly so that she held herself up, her elbows resting on the bed. He pulled down the panties and took a moment to put a hand between her legs. She was already very wet, inflamed. Encouraged, he caressed her backside, wondering for a moment why she’d want the soft, white flesh marred by his hand. 

He hit her once, lightly, an open-handed slap that was simply testing the waters, to know how far he could go before it was too much. She made a soft noise, an intake of breath.His second slap was harder, but she made barely a noise, a tiny moan. It wasn’t enough. The third made her cry out and then moan, hands grasping at the duvet. He picked up the pace, and was rewarded by her cries, the shifting of her body against his erection, and the increasing wetness between her legs.

He made her come like that, splayed over his knee until she was panting into the duvet, her backside a mottling of red handmarks. At the end he slipped his hand to her clitoris to finish her, her moans a reward in themselves. Then he drew her panties back up, gently, and helped her to turn in his lap so that he could hold her properly. Her face pressed into his neck, another reward for his efforts.

Eventually they shifted over to the bed, lying side by side, until her breathing calmed and she seemed to come back from that post-coital place where she was entirely unaware of him. Her dreamy face smiled at him over her shoulder.

“No Hail Marys?” she asked.

Steed laughed. “Somehow it does not seem appropriate.”

“Well, this was all very inappropriate.”

He tucked his arm around her. This was enough. Being with her, holding her, knowing that he could give this to her. Her fingers twined with his.

“Keep the collar.”

“I will.”

There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. Then she rolled over.

“I think it’s your turn, Steed. Any hidden secrets?”

Steed grinned. He thought of a particular schoolmistress, known long before he headed off to Eton, and the way she brandished a ruler at recalcitrant students.

“I thought you’d never ask, Mrs. Gale.”


End file.
